


Pumpkins & Spice

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Clark has no self restraint, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, mentions of Chili's, neither does Bruce, pumpkin fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I leave the room for fifteen minutes and come back to you, sitting on the couch, naked, with a pumpkin sat on your dick. Why, Clark?"OrClark fucks a pumpkin and faces the consequences.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	Pumpkins & Spice

**Author's Note:**

> I finally get back into writing after a long while and THIS is the first thing I write. I'm sorry.
> 
> The aesthetic for this fic includes: pumpkins (of course), spilled flour, red flannels, disappointment, cozy fall evenings, deviousness, and references that no one but the author will understand.
> 
> Please enjoy yourself while reading this. And please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors, I'm a little rusty.
> 
> xoxo, Apollo

Being balls deep in a pumpkin should _not_ feel as good as it does.

Clark's _supposed_ to be carving and decorating a jack-o'-lantern for a contest at work, the winner of which gets a $25 gift card for Chili's.

"I can just take you to Chili's and pay for it," Bruce had explained when Clark practically begged him for his help.

"But that's not the same as paying for Chili's with a gift card you earned through hard work and dedication." Bruce just rolled his eyes, as he usually does. But when Clark gave him those sweet puppy dog eyes, the man couldn't resist.

Really, Clark could win the contest on his own just fine. He's got plenty of skill and original ideas that would blow his co-workers out of the water, no doubt. The truth is, he just really wanted to spend time with Bruce. A week prior, Bruce mentioned that he's never carved a pumpkin before. Clark thought that was beyond sad, and since this would be their first Halloween together, he took it upon himself to give Bruce the opportunity to experience one of the greatest Halloween traditions of all time. 

So today, the two of them found a popular patch and picked up a few good sized pumpkins, despite Bruce's insistence that they just buy them from the grocery store. When they got back to Clark's apartment, the plan was to bake pumpkin muffin tops together and then watch Hocus Pocus while they carved their pumpkins. Clark failed to take into account that neither of them are very good bakers. By the time they were finished with the muffin tops — if the hard, charred lumps could even be considered muffin tops — the kitchen looked like a flour tornado had flown through. And Bruce, somehow, had ended up with raw dough all over his hair and face.

Bruce decided to shower to rid himself of the mess. Meanwhile, Clark, who somehow came out of the ordeal unscathed, cleaned up the kitchen with a burst of superspeed. He eventually regretted not taking his time, as he got a bit bored afterwards while waiting for Bruce to finish his shower.

Clark was twiddling his thumbs. The "carving station" had already been all set up, and the DVD for Hocus Pocus was already in the player, waiting to be started. He was left with nothing to do. And when he's left with nothing to do for too long, Clark gets up to some strange antics. 

He also gets _intensely_ horny.

To make a long story short: about five minutes into Clark's wait, one of the pumpkins on the table started to resemble a very voluptuous ass. He ultimately decided that he had no choice but to cut a hole in it and shove his cock right in. So he did.

And now he's here, sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dick covered in pumpkin guts, fucking his second load into what could've been an award-winning jack-o'-lantern. It's not the best fuck Clark's ever had in his life by any means — that title will _always_ belong to Bruce — but it's certainly not a terrible experience.

Clark gives a few more thrusts, his jaw slack and eyes shut tight, and comes deep inside the gourd. A few minutes pass as Clark catches his breath and contemplates whether he should stop or go just one more round.

Apparently, his super senses don't function properly postcoitus, because Clark doesn't realize Bruce is done with his shower until the man walks into the living room. When their eyes meet, Bruce freezes for a few seconds before crossing his arms in the most disappointed gesture Clark has ever seen. He takes a moment to behold the sight in front of him, as he's sure Bruce is doing as well. Bruce's dark hair is still wet, dripping onto a red flannel he must've borrowed from the closet. Clark's eyes fall to the grey sweatpants, also borrowed, hanging low on Bruce's hips. Though they were a size bigger, they didn't do much to hide Bruce's thighs. It's a very hot look. Clark only remembers that his penis is currently inside of a pumpkin when it stirs at the sight.

Looking back up at his face, Clark sees that Bruce is still quite disappointed and probably expecting an explanation.

"Clark," he says with an inquiring tone.

Clark still hasn't moved an inch. He clears his throat. "Yes?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm uh… I was gutting the pumpkin."

"Naked?"

"Yeah. It's like one of those experimental art things, y'know? Same thing as painting naked. It's a great practice, really gives the artist a lot of room to expand their creativity." That sounded pretty convincing.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Really?" It doesn't look like he bought it. Clark isn't sure what he expected. "Because it looks to me," Bruce strolls forward, slowly getting closer, "like you're fucking it."

Clark remains silent. Bruce narrows his sharp silver eyes, challenging Clark to come up with a better excuse. He knows he can't, not with Bruce staring straight into his soul.

"I leave the room for fifteen minutes and come back to you, sitting on the couch, _naked_ , with a pumpkin sat on your dick. Why, Clark?"

"I, uh… I got bored." Clark really doesn't have a better answer. Bruce sits down on the chair opposite of the couch now, directly in front of Clark. He crosses his legs, places his elbow on the arm and rests his chin on his fist. It's a position he's seen Bruce use before, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne, usually to intimidate someone into doing whatever he wants. As one would expect, it's very effective. Clark is a bit nervous now.

"Well, don't let me stop you."

Clark doesn't move. This could lead to nothing but trouble. The good kind of trouble, of course, but Clark isn't sure his cock could handle it.

"Got a little stage fright?" Bruce teases with a smirk. Leaning forward towards the table, Bruce reaches for a bowl of Halloween candy that Clark bought for himself, grabs a cherry Jolly Rancher from the mix, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth before settling back in the chair.

"Go on," he encourages Clark, voice slightly altered by the candy in his mouth. 

Figuring there's really no way to wiggle himself out of this one (as if he'd want to), Clark obeys and slowly begins to move the pumpkin on his cock. He lifts it up and thrusts into it as he did before, letting out a soft gasp at the action. It's agonizingly slow, until Clark remembers that he controls the pace. His thrusts get a little bit faster after a while.

He risks a glance at the man sitting across from him. Bruce is still in the same position, legs crossed, head in hand, with a feigned look of boredom. He's still sucking on that Jolly Rancher, Clark sees as much when his tongue peeks out from those plump lips, starting to stain red from the candy. Clark is transfixed, he couldn't look away even if he tried. He is almost certain that Bruce is up to something, sucking on a Jolly Rancher like it's the tastiest thing in the world. And yet, he still finds himself falling for his tricks. 

The tip of Bruce's red tongue slowly slides along his bottom lip. The smacking sounds coming from his mouth as he sucks on the candy drive Clark absolutely wild. He groans and thrusts harder into the pumpkin, it's orange outer flesh meeting his hips at a steady tempo. The Jolly Rancher is between Bruce's teeth now. Clark somehow finds the strength to move his eyes from Bruce's mouth to his gaze. He's staring intently at Clark's cock as it moves in and out of the pumpkin.

"Fuck, B." Clark leans his head back against the couch, hoping it would help him keep his eyes off Bruce, therefore helping him not come so quickly.

Bruce won't let him get away that easy though. "Look back at me," he says, and Clark does so with no hesitation. Bruce looks him directly in the eyes now. "How many times did you come in it?"

"Twice," Clark practically moans out.

"In fifteen minutes? Jesus, Clark."

"It feels pretty good."

Bruce's mouth does that pouty little thing it does sometimes, even when he's not aware of it. "Does that pumpkin fuck you better than me?"

"No." While it does feel amazing on his cock, a pumpkin is only tight if you cut the hole small enough. And he did cut it small enough, but it seems his dick eroded the hole, as it slides far too easily now.

"Good. I'm not sure how I would feel about getting replaced by a jack-o'-lantern." 

The Jolly Rancher has gotten smaller now. Bruce still let's his tongue slip out, and each time it does, Clark feels himself get impossibly harder. A devious idea pops into Bruce's mind. Clark knows because the man smirks and hums, as if confirming something to himself. Half-lidded eyes on Clark's own, Bruce holds the candy between puckered lips and sucks it back into his mouth before pushing it back through his lips with his tongue, repeating the action over and over again. Clark curses and gasps as he watches the action, feeling so _so_ close to his release. Holding the pumpkin firmly, he pushes down to meet his own thrusts, fucking into it harder and faster than he has all night. His moans become louder and he shuts his eyes tight as he finally reaches the edge. 

With a strangled sound, Clark buries his cock inside and comes, so intense that his grip on the pumpkin gets too strong. It explodes in his hands, sending chunks of pumpkin flying everywhere. There's orange guts all over the couch, the table, his face, and in his hair. It's even messier than what the kitchen was.

He looks over at Bruce, who he expects to have a horrified look on his face. Instead, Bruce has a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter. Eventually, he can't contain it any longer, and Bruce loses that intimidating posture he had while he bursts into a fit of laughter. Clark supposes it is quite a funny situation, and Bruce's laugh is so contagious that he can't help but join in.

Once their laughs have died off, Bruce rises from his chair and walks around the table to stand in front of Clark. Putting a hand to Clark's cheek, he wipes off some of the pumpkin guts off his face. Clark looks up and leans into Bruce's hand. Bruce looks further down, past Clark's face, and furrows his brow. "You're still hard?"

"That's Kryptonian endurance for you." Clark reaches up and gently holds Bruce by the back of his thighs, pulling him closer. "It won't go away for a while. Unless…" he trails off, hoping the other man gets the idea.

"You want me to take care of that for you?"

"Yes, please."

Bruce picks a seed out of Clark's hair before sinking down to his knees. "Made a real mess, didn't you," he teases, seeing more seeds and splatters of orange covering the couch and floor. After removing the bits of pumpkin flesh that still sat in Clark's lap, Bruce finally grabs a hold of the base of the other man's erection. Clark inhales sharply at the touch.

"Alright?" Bruce asks. Clark nods all too enthusiastically. Taking that as confirmation, Bruce comes forward slightly and brings the sensitive head of Clark's cock to his lips. He places a feather light kiss on the crown, making Clark shudder. That red-stained tongue that's been torturing him all night peeks out again to lick at the underside of the head, then the slit, then to circle around the head a few times in a painfully slow movement.

"Please, Bruce," Clark begs, breathless.

Bruce licks a long stripe up his shaft, stopping at the tip to give it another teasing swipe. Hands twitching at his sides, Clark fists the couch cushions to refrain from grabbing Bruce's head and shoving him down. He can't do much to prevent his hips from canting up in a desperate search for more friction. Bruce must take pity on him, as in the next moment he finally wraps his lips around his aching cock. That soft, wet heat feels _amazing_ to Clark, infinitely better than a seasonal squash. The vibrations he feels as Bruce hums around his length are almost too much to handle. He curses and tilts his head back against the couch.

When Bruce comes back up, he pulls all the way off with an obscene pop. Clark whines at the loss. He looks back down at Bruce, only to see the man's nose crinkled in disgust as he pulls a string from his mouth.

"Couldn't you have fucked something tastier and less stringy? Like a watermelon or a grapefruit or something?" Bruce complains as he flicks the strand aside.

"Well I was pretty horny and I didn't have either of those things on hand, so… pumpkin." The face Bruce makes seems to indicate that he thinks it's a fair point. Clark pushes his hips upwards, nudging Bruce to get back to work. Bruce does, and Clark's length is back in his mouth in seconds. He bobs his head a few times, then pats Clark's thigh, his request clear. He wants his mouth fucked.

The image of the exploding pumpkin flashes through Clark's mind, and he hesitates. For the most part, Clark is great at controlling his strength when it comes to touching people, _especially_ when it comes to touching Bruce. But there's still always that possibility that he could slip up. Clark doesn't know what he would do if Bruce's head ended up like that pumpkin.

Bruce notices his hesitation and likely knows exactly what Clark is thinking. To reassure him, he reaches for Clark's hand still clutching the cushions, gently pries it off and guides it to his head. With Bruce's hand around his wrist, Clark threads his fingers through soft raven locks. Bruce drops his hand back down to brace against Clark's knee and doesn't move. It takes Clark a few seconds before he finally pushes the man's head down in the _least_ roughest way he can manage. Still, Bruce refuses to move on his own, clearly demanding some roughness from Clark. 

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Clark pulls Bruce upwards, eliciting a moan from him that sends tremors through Clark's body. He grips Bruce's hair even harder as he pushes him back down, further this time, until the tip of his cock touches the back of Bruce's throat.

This goes on for minutes, Clark holding Bruce by his hair and fucking his mouth, until Clark starts to feel that telltale coiling in his groin.

"Fuck, B, I'm so close." Somehow, Bruce takes Clark even deeper, his lips stretched by the girth. "Do you want me to come down your throat?" Bruce makes an enthusiastic noise of affirmation. 

Deep groans filling the room, Clark grips Bruce's hair tightly and comes so hard he sees stars. Bruce swallows around him several times. Clark releases his hair, allowing Bruce to pull off and catch his breath. A line of spit trails between his bottom lip and Clark's softening cock. Breathing finally settled, Bruce raises up on his knees to meet their lips in a sweet yet sloppy kiss. He tastes of Clark and artificial cherry flavoring. It's delicious.

Clark reaches for the hem of Bruce's borrowed sweatpants, ready to offer him a similar service, but Bruce stops him by lightly holding his wrists.

"Mm, you don't have to. I'm already taken care of." Bruce's voice sounds raspy, raw and totally wrecked. That alone would be enough to get Clark hard again, if he weren't already spent. At Clark's look of confusion, Bruce tugs down the hem himself, revealing that he already came in his pants. 

"Fuck."

"I know. Still want that Chili's gift card?"

After cleaning up both themselves and the living room, the two finally carve the one pumpkin they have left. Bruce takes over for the most part, using his artistic skills to sculpt an incredibly realistic zombie face. It's impressive for his first pumpkin carving.

"That's actually amazing," Lois says to Clark when he brings the jack-o'-lantern to work the next day. "Give Wayne my complements."

"Hold on," Kat chimes in, "I thought you were bringing two pumpkins. What happened to the other one?"

"It's a complicated tale. Don't worry about it." 

Clark ends up winning the Chili's gift card, no surprise to any of his co-workers, but his mind isn't on Chili's anymore.

He makes sure to stop by the store later to grab another pumpkin. And a watermelon and grapefruit, while he's at it.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for anyone who caught the John Mulaney reference.
> 
> Maybe I'll write something depressing next just to balance this one out...


End file.
